


Dysfunction Junction

by orchidbreezefc



Category: Best Friends Forever (Webcomic)
Genre: M/M, some violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-15
Updated: 2013-01-15
Packaged: 2017-11-25 13:41:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/639460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orchidbreezefc/pseuds/orchidbreezefc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Your name is John Kingsley III, and there is no reason for Louis to be in your bedroom right now, but something like that never did stop him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dysfunction Junction

**Author's Note:**

> [on tumblr](http://orchidbreezefc.tumblr.com/post/31039227875)

Your name is John Kingsley III, and there is no reason for Louis to be in your bedroom right now, but something like that never did stop him.

Before he can ask his own idiotic spin on the question ‘What’s wrong?’, you tell him. “Ally dumped me,” you grind out. There is nothing else to live for, and there’s no point to telling him to leave, because even Louis could not possibly make you feel any worse. You’re just going to sit here and toast to a golden brown in your own personal circle of hell.

Louis sits on the edge of your bed, just close enough to be very uncomfortable. “That’s the trouble with girls, isn’t it?” he says, smirking, and you don’t bother to point out that he’s dumped more guys than any girl you could name has.

He slides his hand up your ribs and you close your eyes in weary acknowledgement of _goddammit, we’re doing this again_. “Bet I could think of a better match for you than her,” you hear him say—bullshit—“and a better kisser too.”

Double bullshit.

Louis’s mom thinks Louis pulling shit like this is his way of comforting you. And you love her, but you and your dad are pretty united on the idea that anything that even vaguely sounds like something from her magazines is pretty much horseshit. Really, this is just Louis being a dick as usual. You are what you eat.

His hand’s sliding up your chest. You bleakly wonder when he’s going to get bored and give you over to your misery. You wonder if he’ll just keep going if you don’t scrape together the remnants of your willpower and shove him off you.

You get your answer about twenty seconds later. Answer’s yes. The bastard kisses you on the goddamn mouth and you’re just too sick of everything to care. It’s just a brush of lips before he pulls back apprehensively, expecting a backlash. You do nothing. He says, “John, what the everlasting fuck.” You open your eyes and stare blankly back at him.

His face starts to twist, and in a moment he looks pissed the fuck off. “What the _shit_ ,” he says, and grabs handfuls of your varsity jacket. “Are you fucking serious right now?!” he continues, addressing the world at large. Still you say nothing. Let Louis have his fit. You can still feel the warmth of his mouth, you think.

“Useless goddamn zombie,” he spits. “It’s just some slut, get the fuck over it.”

“Shut your mouth,” you say.

His eyes glint with what looks like approval. “What, calling her a slut? She’d have to be, to even consider an asshole like you.”

You punch him in the face.

He sprawls back and falls off the bed with a rather satisfying crash. It takes a moment to realize that you’re sort of smiling. When Louis drags himself up, he’s laughing like the fucking Joker. “ _There_ we are,” he says with an unsettling grin, running fingers along the side of his nose to make sure you didn’t disfigure it, looking interestedly at the blood.

Suddenly he lunges at you, taking fistfuls of your shirt, face dead serious. He reads something in your expression, in your eyes. You wonder what he sees. Probably not much left there other than adrenaline.

“To even consider an asshole like you,” he echoes, like he’s feeling the words on his tongue and running their meaning through his head. He starts to break into the creepy grin again but stops halfway. “Not the first time I’ve been called a slut,” he says decisively, and he half leans down half drags you up until your lips meet in the middle.

You try to give in to your twisted semi-incestuous gay shitfest of a fate with despairing dignity, but outrageously enough, Louis will not let you. He pushes and prods, he sneers at you and insults until you get so pissed off about it that you’re shoving him down and biting and hitting and he fucking laps it up, laughs breathlessly with the little wind that isn’t knocked out of him when you sock him in the gut. He digs his manicured fucking nails into your scalp and bites and kicks. He fights too, laughing the whole time as he goads you into this fucked-up kinky-ass half-makeout half-brawl.

At some point, when your knuckles are cut and bruised from laying down hits and your adrenaline starts running low, Louis kisses you way too goddamn tenderly for comfort, all slow and thorough, and whispers, “She was a bitch anyway."

He leaves without another word, and fuck every last aspect of your sorry shitty life. He _is_ a better kisser than Ally.

By morning he’s either forgotten what happened or isn’t going to make a discussion out of it. He just wanders into the kitchen and announces that he feels like shit. Then he thinks about that for a moment and adds that maybe he should do it again, which is not half as cryptic as you wish it was.

He looks at your hand and asks whose shit you fucked up. “Some weaselly punk,” you tell him, then pause and add, “but I think I’m gonna let him off next time.”

“Going soft?” he asks with a wicked grin over his coffee.

“Something like that,” you say after a while, more quietly than he can hear, and finish your slice of toast.

You forget to miss Ally today.


End file.
